


Cat's Cradle

by VampireFaun



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Dominance, Enemies to ;), Fear Play, M/M, Power Dynamics, Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 04:15:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15699963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampireFaun/pseuds/VampireFaun
Summary: Oh, Reed knew he wasfuckedthe instant he saw the eyes.(RK900 has always wanted a human. Connor has one. Why shouldn't he?)





	1. Lessons

Oh, Reed knew he was _fucked_ the instant he saw the eyes.

He’d been jostling his way into work, past the _insufferable_ crowd of reporters that seemed to have decided that the parking lot was their goddamn campsite (you’d think someone was giving away the red ice from the evidence room for free), the infernal _screeching_ of them—“Detective! Detective! What can you tell us about the anti-android resistance? What can you tell us about the murders? Do you have any suspects?”—the waving of microphones and reaching of greedy hands. And this morning was worse, because one of them had knocked his _fucking_ coffee out of his grip, and so now he didn’t have even that.

“Fucking _animals,_ ” he hissed, as he lugged his messenger bag in through the door. “Shit.”

So now he was pissed. With a huff through his teeth, he stared down at his shoes in the elevator.

Nothing had been the same ever since the revolution. Already a month and it was still everything anyone was talking about. He’d resented androids before, but somehow, this was worse than being replaced by them—this was worse. This was like _serving_ them.

By the time the elevator opened, Reed was grinding his teeth. He was _pissed_ , and he didn’t have his _coffee_ , but at least, thank fuck, there was that Connor dipshit right up ahead, standing by a window.

At least he could make up for the coffee (technically the androids’ fault, so it was only fair) by getting a kick out of him.

He approached from the back, a smirk already on his face. Weird—looked like Connor was wearing a white jacket today, and it made him look broader in the shoulders, thicker in the neck—and almost taller? Whatever.

“Hey, barbie,” Reed scoffed. “You playin’ dressup, or what?” And as he walked by, he gave the android’s shoulder a hefty _shove_ with his own shoulder—

And stumbled back, wincing, as he bounced off of something _hard._ His messenger bag slipped off his shoulder and fell flat on the ground. The sneer wiped off his face.

Huh?

The android didn’t move for a few seconds. It slowly looked down at its shoulder, with something like disinterest.

Then, smoothly, it turned his head to Reed, and there were the eyes.

Grey. Impassive. The kind of piercing, blank stare that was almost deadly; the kind of stare so icy that it made him feel like nothing, he was _nothing_ in these eyes, less than zero. An insect.

Reed stared up at him, backing up to snatch up his bag again, and his lip curled. The raw instinct of a cornered animal. “What the fuck, you’re not—”

“Connor?” The android said, in a smooth, amused voice. “I’m afraid not.”

Reed’s lip curled up tighter, and he clenched his teeth. His heart trembled with rage inside of him. “There’s _two_ of you now? Heh.” He squared his shoulders back, resurrecting the sneer. “Good. Two bitches to make me coffee.”

The android looked at him, expressionless.

And said _nothing._

Nothing. No retort, no friendly, automatic Connor-like snippet of information. Just a long and dangerous silence.

Reed could feel his palms start to tingle with sweat; his heart began to hammer. Thud-thud, thud-thud, thud—

“Plastic _prick,_ ” Reed spat then, unable to take the silence—shouldered his bag and walked away, quickly, his steps sounding loud and furious across the glassy floor.

He felt the android’s gaze on his back like a fucking _laser_ all the way to the door of the bullpen, and shuddered as it closed behind him.

What the _fuck_ had that been?

 

__________

 

Reed was still rattled as he slid down into his desk chair, pushing aside a pile of paperwork to set down his bag. His brow was furrowed, his hands restless. Forget the coffee, he was wide-awake now, and those eyes were seared into his mind.

But when he’d finally settled down—oh, how the hatred filled him, then! How he ground his teeth and barked out a laugh. Had he really cowered in front of an android like that? Stupid! He should’ve done something else—should’ve showed that bucket of bolts its place. A comeback would’ve been fucking _delicious,_ something like, _Not Connor? Well you_ _’re just as ugly_ , or _Yeah, I can tell. You_ _’re uglier._ Something with ugly in it. Priceless.

Hey, speaking of ugly, where was that prick Anderson? Late again? He’d rarely been late since the tin man had officially been hired (Reed was pleased with that nickname—less pleased about the hiring) and the two were thick as thieves, conspiring, whispering to each other—God knows _what_ they got up to outside the office. Reed didn’t want to know.

But no, Anderson had to be there, and so did Connor; their bags were at their desks, the information screens on. Maybe they were getting chewed out by Fowler; Reed smiled at the thought.

There were more pressing things to worry about, however. His sleeve had been stained by the coffee, and if he didn’t get it out quick, he’d have the shitty memory from that morning soaked into the cloth for-fucking-ever. So Reed stood up and made his way to the bathroom.

But he was barely through the bathroom door when he noticed something strange.

One of the stalls was occupied— _two_ pairs of feet, holy fuck, _two_ voices—the door not even fully closed, for shame! And the voices were none other than—

“Easy, Connor,” Hank’s voice came, deep and steady. “Easy.”

Connor’s voice, then—but no words, only a strange, choking sound, _tinny_ , as if made by a cheap speaker.

“Easy. Shhh.”

Reed could-not-fucking- _believe_ what he was hearing. Could it be? A gloating smile rose in anticipation to his lips, his hand already grasping for his phone. No _way._ Striding forward, he slammed open the door and laughed.

“Havin’ fun, boys—?”

But the words died on his lips.

No one was undressed, or sucking dick, or anything. No; Connor was faced away from the stall door and hunched over the toilet, on his knees, the little tuck of hair on the nape of his neck visible over his collar. Hank was crouched beside him, a soothing hand on the android’s back; and as Reed stood there, puzzled, Hank barely glanced at him.

“Reed,” he said flatly, “Get out.”

“The fuck is this?” The haughty smile wavered, but did not disappear. “Robot hangover?”

“Reed,” Hank said through his teeth, facing him with a serious flash of his eyes. “Get the _fuck—_ _”_

Connor retched again, a bizarre little series of twitches going through his arms. It was almost as though he was trembling; and Hank’s attention went back to him, his hand rubbing between Connor’s shoulders. “Easy.”

In stunned confusion, Reed stood there a while longer; but it wasn’t long before the realization dawned on him.

“This is about the fuckin’—terminator out there, isn’t it?”

At that, Connor’s shoulders stilled. He looked up at Reed—

And oh, fuck, Reed took a step back and even grimaced in disgust, because Connor looked fucking _awful_ , his LED blinking red, his eyes fixed and anxious, thirium dripping sickly-blue over the curve of his bottom lip.

“You saw him?” he said, hoarse with static.

Hank scoffed. “Don’t listen—”

“What did he look like?”

Reed’s brow knitted. “He—” An uneasy smirk. “Like—like you, but less ugly. Heh.”

But the joke fell flat, because there was no reaction. Connor’s gaze slipped down, looking into some troubled distance, and Hank shot Reed an annoyed look. “Can’t you just fuckin’ _leave?_ ”

“I—” Now Reed was _pissed_ again, for reasons he didn’t quite understand, and he gave a horrible leer of a smile. “Well, I got business to do here, so no. Unless…” He tapped his chin with one finger. “Does robo-boy here have a _flush_ function?” He snapped his fingers. “Or maybe _that_ _’s_ why they’re replacin’ him—”

Hank _stood up_ so violently that the door of the stall rattled. “Get out,” he snarled.

“Hank,” Connor said quietly. “Don’t—”

“Get the FUCK out!” Hank roared, snatching for Reed’s collar—

But Reed dodged him, and spat a curse. “Fine! Shithead. Have fun watching your—your boy toy puke.” Reed felt a little sick now (lack of coffee?) but he had to get out one last quip. “Is that your kink?”

Hank gave him a look like _death_ and slammed the stall door.

“We should go home,” Reed heard Hank mutter.

A staticky sigh. “I’m okay.”

“Seriously.”

“No. I can work. I’m okay.”

But Reed had had enough crazy, so he didn’t stay any longer, forgetting even to wash out his sleeve. In a rage, he stalked out.

 

_______

 

Dread.

What was this feeling of _dread_? He’d been working at the desk for maybe half an hour, the terrible two had come back to their desks, and everything seemed normal. So what was with this stifling feeling, the nervous prickle on the back of his arms?

Reed leaned back in his chair, annoyed. Stupid androids. Distracting. He had murder cases to look through, for fuck’s sake— _human_ murder cases. How come he had to deal with weird android drama?

Soon enough, though, he managed to settle into a rhythm. The dread subsided, the prickling faded.

So he was completely unprepared when the bullpen swung open far behind him, and a succession of firm, measured steps began to click across the floor.

He didn’t even turn, in fact, until he saw heads popping up over cubicle walls out of the corner of his eye, and a hush went over the office. It was then that the dread flooded back in full force, and Reed raised his head and swiveled in his chair.

Powerful shoulders. Crisp jacket. Cool and unreadable eyes.

Easy stride.

The android that _definitely_ was not Connor walked up the corridor of desks, trailing the stifling weight of his presence—and made his way to Connor’s desk, stopping just beside it.

Reed had never seen an android _bristle_ like a cat, but that’s what Connor did, freezing with his stare boring into his screen. Only Hank moved, a dangerous look at the standing android’s face.

Then—blink, the standing android’s LED went yellow. Blink, Connor’s LED went yellow.

They were still.

And then—to Reed’s absolute _horror—_ Connor blinked and then trailed his gaze off, off the computer screen, past the sleek white jacket of the android—and found Reed.

He looked at Reed for a moment.

Then, he lifted his eyes, his brows furrowed, to the other android. The android gazed down at Connor, blinking calmly.

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck, what the fuck—?!_

The LEDs went blue again, and then the white-jacketed android was moving, walking up towards Fowler’s office—and _fuck_ , _shit,_ he was going to pass _right_ by Reed’s desk. Reed hissed, and tore his gaze back to his screen, though the hairs were standing one by one on the back of his neck—

A heavy hand grasped his shoulder. Squeezed. Not in a friendly manner. Tight, almost painful, almost gloating.

Possessive.

And then the android had passed, leaving Reed stunned at his desk.

The fury came a second later, delayed.

“Hey!” Seething, Reed stood up, a rush of heat flooding his head. “What the _fuck_ —”

But he was gone into Fowler’s office, the door clicking smoothly shut.

“Prick—” Reed growled, suppressing an urge to knock over his chair. Oh, he would kill that android. Put a hole right through his head, kick him into pieced, rip out those eyes and grind them under the heel of his shoe—

But something else caught his eye, then. Connor was leaning over his desk, beckoning to Hank; and when Hank leaned forward, his eyes dark with concern, Connor cupped his hand to his ear and tucked his face in, whispering.

Hank’s eyes widened a fraction—and _goddammit! Fuck!—_ moved to Reed, astonished.

Reed stood up and _threw_ his chair aside, and it spun out, with a resounding smack against a cubicle wall. “The _fuck_ you lookin’ at?”

But now everyone was staring, and Hank just leaned back, crossing his arms, and Reed could only stand there fuming—

“Reed!” Fowler called from the office, opening the door. “In here. Now.”

 

__________

 

White-hot rage.

Curses.

Desperation.

Pounding on Fowler’s desk, knocking papers aside, white-knuckled fists. Begging. Shouting.

The feeling of a settled, calm gaze from behind. Patient white-sleeved arms folded behind a broad back. As if the fucking _thing_ was waiting for a promised package to be delivered to him.

The slightest smile on the android’s face, when Reed whirled to jab one angry, accusing finger at him, before turning back to Fowler. The veins stood out in his neck. “For the last time, I said NO!”

Fowler pinched the bridge of his nose. “Reed—”

“Don’t worry, Captain,” the android said. “I understand that there is an adjustment period with any partner.”

He smiled.

“I’ll take good care of him.”

Reed stormed out, his heart pounding wildly.

Fear.

 

__________

 

Coffee. Reed needed coffee, _now._ His hand trembled as he made it, alone in the break room, and it was a trembling that came up through his chest and rattled his jaw—from anger or fear, he couldn’t say.

Why did he feel like he’d just been fucking— _sold_ to someone, for fuck’s sake?

He stood there, breathing heavily with the coffee in his hand, pale. Don’t have a panic attack, Reed. Don’t have a _fucking_ panic attack.

What was it about this android that unnerved him so much?

He stood there by the coffeemaker and stewed.

He should’ve known the android would follow him.

Reed felt his presence before he saw him, the inexplicable instinct that someone was looming just behind him, familiar, tall. His grip turned to stone on the coffee cup.

“Alright, you plastic piece of shit,” he said poisonously, without turning to face the android. “No more games. Listen up.” His jaw tightened, his gaze boring into the table. “I don’t give a _shit_ where you came from, or how you got hired. You go back in there and get Fowler to change his mind, or you’re getting a fucking hole in your head. Are we _clear?_ _”_

Silence. Mother _fucker—_

“I _said_ ,” Reed barked, “Are we—”

He felt the fucking android _lean over_ him, the murmuring voice, deeper and smoother than Connor’s, right by his ear.

“I think most hatred is born from fear,” it said. “Don’t you?”

Reed froze, his eyes fixed firmly on the coffee machine, and barely managed to speak.

“I’m—not afraid of you, you—” He clenched his teeth. “Piece of shit—”

“Good,” the android interrupted smoothly. “Neither am I.”

A chill went up Reed’s spine, and he spluttered for a second before he snapped. “What the _fuck_ do you want from me, then? Huh? Why are you here?”

The android _sighed_ , it actually _sighed_ —and all of a sudden there was a hand on the back of Reed’s neck, and it _squeezed_ in a way that sent a shock of fear into the pit of Reed’s stomach.

“I’ve always wanted a human,” it said simply. “Connor has one. Why shouldn’t I?”

And that, _that_ made Reed go bright-cherry-tomato-red and whirl, _slapping_ the hand away and meeting those emotionless grey eyes with real murder in his glare. “I am not _your_ fucking _human!_ You plastic asshole—useless—you think I give a damn about this revolution crap? _Fuck_ no. Humans are meant to _own_ androids, and you’re just some fucking pet that wants to think it’s free—”

The android took him by the hair, slowly, with no rush, and bent his head carefully to the side. “Hm.”

Reed gnashed his teeth like a wild animal. “Ow ow _ow_ what the fuck I’m going to _kill_ you—

But he shut up, quivering in rage and fear, when the android ran a finger down his neck.

“Jugular vein distention,” it mused. “Occurs mostly when humans are upset. The jugular veins are very important; they carry blood from the heart to the head. Very dangerous if they’re broken.”

Reed shook with hatred, as the android tightened its grip on his neck, leaning in by his ear.

“Did you know that my bite has been built to apply pressures up to two hundred pounds per square inch?”

Don’t panic Reed don’t panic don’t panic don’t panic—

“You wouldn’t,” he choked.

“I don’t fear death, detective.”

“What the _hell_ do you want from me?”

The android let go of his neck, expressionless. “Just what I said. I want a human.”

“Why the _fuck_ does it have to be me—?!”

“I looked through the precinct records, and chose you on a whim. You seemed entertaining.” The terrifying tilt of its head, holy _fuck_. “You don’t have to be so upset, detective. You will find this beneficial. I’ll take good care of you.”

“Good care, my ass!” Reed backed into the counter behind him, almost hyperventilating. “You—you were just saying you were gonna rip my throat out!”

“Merely a formality.”

“A _formality?!_ _”_

“To stop those pesky threats of yours. They’re very endearing, but overall I think they’re rather toxic to our partnership.”

“Leave me alone!”

“I will only ever do what is best for you, detective.”

“Holy _fuck,_ leave me _alone!_ _”_ Reed clasped his hands over his ears, shaking, and shook his head. “Leave me alone—what the _hell_ did I do to deserve this? Shit—”

He couldn’t take it. He just couldn’t take it, this was the worst day of his life—he _hated_ it, being looked at like an object, like this bucket of bolts thought he owned him—

Like this…bucket of bolts…

Thought he owned him.

…

Reed had never believed in karma before, but something about this was uncanny.

“Leave me alone,” he wheezed. “Leave—”

“Very well,” the android said. “I will be here tomorrow at eight; but please don’t be afraid, detective. I won’t hurt you.”

He turned smoothly on his heel to leave, and then looked back.

“I am an RK900 model. You may call me Nine.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving Reed to sink down to the floor and start to hyperventilate in earnest.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO EVERYONE AND WELCOME TO HELL!!!!!! UR HERE FOREVER!!!!
> 
> ANYWAY i just started writing another fanfiction because hey just because. sometimes thats just how it be.
> 
> thOUGHTS? SUGGESTIONS?? TYPOS U NOTICED BECAUSE I FINISHED THIS AT 1AM?? LEMME KNOW!!! i eat comments for Breakfast and try to respond to as MANY as I can......begause i love them and i love You, reader. Yes U. Licks screen
> 
> I KNOW I USED LIKE WAY TOO MANY ITALICS IN THIS CHAPTER AND I WILL GO THRU THEM LATER N TONE IT DOWN......theyre just SO addictive, guys....ough they are so slantly i cant Help Myself
> 
> HOW will reed suffer in the next chapter????? is he finally gonna drink his coffee???? TUNE IN next time to find out..........


	2. Leave Him Alone

Reed barely slept that night, twisted his covers into a sweaty mess. Woke parched and nauseous in the morning.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes, exhausted. Why did he suddenly feel dread? It took him a second to remember, but then—

Shit.

His heart jumped and began to hammer, his nausea swelling like a balloon in his throat. He cupped a hand over his mouth and closed his eyes.

_Shit!_

______

 

Shit shit shit. Getting out of the car, the usual mob of reporters swimming in his eyes like some kind of fucking abstract painting. Shit shit shit. The horrible feeling of being transported towards the door by unwilling feet—he felt like he was walking to his own _goddamn_ execution.

The din of the reporters in his ears. Walk, Reed. Walk.

His eyes fixed firmly on the ground, he made it past them, in through the door. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, huh? Is this how it was gonna be now—hell on all sides?

Reed’s steps slowed; he was sluggish, his eyes still distant on the ground. Step. Step. Step.

And then, from beside the door, as he waked past—another pair of shoes, polished black, turned sharply and fell in by him, matching his stride.

Step. Step. Step—

Reed stopped, a white-hot pang of dread blurring his sight.

The other steps stopped too.

Then, Reed was whirling, his teeth clenched, his coffee _splashing_ over the rim of its cup as he swung his free hand up to punch the _fuck_ out of—

Nine stopped his fist with one hand. His other arm was behind his back. Eyes gazing down at him with that easy _nothingness_ that chilled him to the bone.

“Good morning, detective.” Still holding Reed’s trembling fist, he stood motionless. “You seem tired.”

Oh, how Reed _abhorred_ him—

“Yeah, tired of your _bullshit!_ _”_ he spat, hating those eyes, _hating_ that crisp white jacket most of all; and so he jerked his other hand forward, the one holding his coffee cup, so that the contents sloshed forward—

Lightning-speed, Nine’s other hand was suddenly out from behind his back, and he’d knocked Reed’s wrist aside. The splash just barely missed his shoulder, splattering instead all over the ground.

Nine tilted his head. “Now, _that_ wasn’t very nice.”

“Nice?! You fucking _creep—_ you fucking—” Reed spluttered, wrenching his fist out of Nine’s grip, and held it to his chest as if it were wounded. “This is _your_ fault!”

“You’re the one making this difficult, detective.” A mocking, earnest look. “I’m only here to help you.”

“I’m _not_ your fucking toy! Stay the _fuck_ , out of my way, or I’ll—” He gripped the strap of his bag, stepping back. “I’ll—”

Nine waited patiently. “Yes?”

Reed hissed a string of curses, shoving past him and making a beeline towards the bullpen door.

______

 

Reed couldn’t _breathe_.

They’d put Mr. Fucking Terminator _at the desk across from his._

He couldn’t work like this. No _fucking_ way.

Reed still didn’t understand what his _deal_ was. What had he said yesterday—he _wanted a human?_ As if a human could be owned—as if he was someone’s lousy fucking _pet_. Every thread of Reed’s dignity snapped and sparked, the fury gathering like heat underneath his tongue.

So fixedly he was stewing that he actually _jumped_ when the android addressed him.

“Have you had breakfast?”

Reed’s reply was a murderous glare, which was not returned.

“Now now, detective. Don’t sulk.”

“Shut up,” Reed growled, looking back to his screen. “Shut the _fuck_ up and let me work.”

“They warned me you’d be fussy.”

Reed squeezed the arm of his chair so hard that the foam let out a hiss of air, but managed to stay silent.

“Have you had breakfast?”

“I would’ve,” Reed exploded, “If your ugly _mug_ hadn’t gotten in my way as soon as I _stepped in the fucking building!_ _”_

“No one made you throw the coffee, detective.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“In any case, coffee is not a meal.”

“Go _fuck_ yourself!”

To Reed’s surprise, the android actually rose up, pushed in its chair, and walked away.

 _Heh._ He smirked. _Maybe he really did go fuck himself._ He frowned. _Can androids fuck?_

Well, clearly some models could, the Traci models, et-cetera, but what about the others? And did they feel anything from it? He puzzled over it for a little bit…could probably google it, but he wouldn’t be caught _dead—_

A hand smoothed over his shoulder and then tightened menacingly, unmistakable. Reed froze and actually _snarled_ , turning his head. “What the _fuck_ is your problem?!”

Nine was standing over him, huge, something wrapped in paper in his other hand. He set it on Reed’s desk.

“Breakfast,” he said, his eyes inscrutable. “Eat.”

Reed stared at him in shock as he went back to his desk.

Then, the curses came.

“FUCK no! You think I’ll eat _shit_ that you’ve touched? You think—”

Nine sat smoothly back down. “It isn’t shit. It’s a sandwich.”

“It’s shit!” Reed reached for it. “And it’s going in the garbage where it belongs—”

“No,” Nine said calmly, leaning back. “You’re going to eat it.”

“I’m not going to eat _shit_.”

“Yes you are.”

“No I’m not.”

“Humans function best on three meals a day.”

“I’m gonna _fuck_ you up. I don’t need this.”

“Perhaps not,” the android reasoned, “But you do need your screen, wouldn’t you say?”

“What—?!”

Nine’s LED glowed yellow for a moment, his eyes flashing with something dark—and Reed’s screen went blank.

Reed stared at it, shocked, and pressed the on button—once at first, and then harder, jamming his finger in. “What—”

“Eat. Three bites and you’ll get it back.”

No way.

No _fucking_ way.

“Prick,” Reed said slowly, his fists clenched, his voice trembling with rage, “I’m going to give you three _fucking_ seconds to fix whatever you did to my screen.”

The android said nothing, his eyes focused on his own screen.

“One.”

Nothing.

“T-two—”

Silence.

Dammit, _dammit—!_

Then, the final straw.

“Eat your breakfast, detective.”

And those grey eyes found him, the smallest of smiles lifting the corners of Nine’s lips, but this time his gaze settled on him more firmly. Gloating. As if _claiming_ him.

A knife of fear went through Reed’s chest. No, he had to go, he had to go now now now—

 

________

 

Reed stormed down the hall, breathing hard.

He’d always had trouble with anxiety, and his breathing echoed, stayed in the air, _trapped_ him. He couldn’t escape it—he couldn’t escape whatever was going on here, and he didn’t like it. How had that rustbucket managed to _turn off his screen?_ He couldn’t stand this, this was tyranny, this was—

Connor. There was Connor, up ahead, coming out of an office room.

Wait.

“Hey!” Reed called, slowing to a stop. “Plastic detective!”

Connor glanced at him and walked off.

“No! Wait—shithead! Get back here!” Reed started to walk. “Hey!”

Connor walked faster—

“Wait—” Suddenly out of breath, Reed stopped again—and the desperation took over, drowning, drowning. “Wait—Connor. Connor, I’m fucking serious, Connor, stop.”

He swallowed.

“Please.”

At that, Connor stopped. Turned around, with the slightest puzzled scan of his eyes.

“I need to—talk with you,” Reed said, breathless. “In the break room. Now.”

So Connor followed him in, and Reed turned to him, unable to keep the desperation out of his voice. “You’ve—you’ve got to help me.”

Connor stared at him, unsure. “…help…?”

“The—the terminator. The fucking—”

“Nine?”

“You were scared of him. _You_. Were scared of him, yesterday, throwing up in the bathroom. Right?”

Connor paused. “…in a sense.”

“You—” Reed was pacing now. “You were scared he’d—replace you?”

“Correct…” Connor said slowly, delicately. “He was…intended to be my replacement, before the revolution. If I did not complete my mission.”

Reed was still pacing. “Listen,” he said. “We both—don’t want him here, then. We both—”

Connor shook his head. “He isn’t here to replace me. He told me.”

Reed stopped, turning to him. “When he—he stopped by your desk? The fuck did he say?”

“He said…” Connor’s voice suddenly changed, going deeper, smoother. “No need to be afraid, Connor. I’m not here to replace you. I’m here for detective Reed.” His voice went back to normal, concerned. “Are you okay?”

Reed had gone white, just at the _fucking_ voice.

“Detective.”

“Then—you—” Then Reed didn’t have an ally in Connor, like he’d hoped, and the resulting swell of rage and helplessness made him _livid._

“Detective?”

“Then I bet you’re just fucking _fine_ with that, huh?” Reed went from white to red. “Everything’s just fine, then! You get your revenge on me, you and every shithole android—”

The regret seeped into Connor’s expression, regret that he’d stopped for this talk, and somehow that made Reed _furious_.

“It’s all _your_ fault!” Reed advanced, murder in his eyes. “You, and every fucking android who thinks they’re better—oh, I’ll show you better!” His hand went to his gun. “I’ll—”

A hand caught the back of his collar, and Reed choked.

A smooth voice came, soothing the scene like ice.

“Is this man bothering you, Connor?”

Connor looked up, up, over Reed’s head, and Reed froze. No. No no no no no—

Even Connor hesitated. “He…”

“I heard some very unpleasant words from outside.”

“We were having a talk.”

“You can tell me.”

Reed couldn’t see behind him, but Connor’s LED went yellow. They were talking. They were—

“Hey,” Reed said, suddenly breathless again. “Connor, I didn’t—” His knees were trembling; he could feel the grip of the hand on the back of his shirt. “I didn’t really mean, I wasn’t going to—”

“…” Connor glanced away, hesitating.

“Connor, Connor please—”

Connor’s LED went blue again; the secret conversation was over. “…Nine, I think you’re…scaring him.”

Nine laughed, he fucking _laughed_ , a dark and quiet laugh.

“You and I both know what I would say to that.”

And then—Reed was being dragged backwards, back, back, by the collar of his shirt.

“No—” He struggled, his hands flying to his neck, and his shoes scrambled for purchase on the floor. “No no no—Connor! Connor, wait—”

And Connor was calling something after them, but it was quiet, and it was lost in the scuffle. Nine was dragging Reed down the hall, now—no no _no no no—_

“Stop! Let go—let go of me! Shit—”

“You’re very upset. I think you need to cool down.”

“C’mon, let go! Fuck—”

“I think you need some cold water on your face. They say it’s quite refreshing.”

“Let _go!_ Let go—”

“Don’t worry, detective,” Nine said calmly, as they rounded a corner. “The record for humans holding their breath underwater is twenty-two minutes.”

“No—” Reed’s whole body went weak with fear and helplessness. He was shivering—he was _scared_ , couldn’t this android see that he was scared?! Why didn’t he fucking stop? “C’mon—Nine—Nine, I didn’t mean what I said, I fucking—I was just—”

“Trying to get rid of me?” Nine pushed open the bathroom door and dragged him in. “I know.” He sighed. “That hurts me, detective.”

“I wasn’t! I wasn’t, I was just—” Reed actually gasped in terror, as Nine hefted him up, and kicked his legs. “Nine I’m serious Nine _don_ _’t—”_

“You’re like an angry kitten,” Nine said, with an unmistakable tinge of amusement. “Don’t worry. It’s only water.”

Reed couldn’t breathe—he couldn’t breathe, his heart was pounding with fear, and all of a sudden there was a hand firmly taking hold of his hair, bending him over the counter, forcing his head into a sink. The grip was so powerful—he’d never felt anything like it. He couldn’t move if he wanted to. He couldn’t fight stone.

“No—n-”

Nine reached out and turned on the faucet. The water rushed out, deafening, and it whipped Reed’s fear into a frenzy.

“No no no _no no NO—!_ _”_ Reed had no idea what was about to happen, but it wasn’t going to be good, and he was a second away from tears— _fuck_ , his eyes were burning—“I’m sorry! I’m sorry—” he gasped. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m—!”

Nine reached out, cupped his hand, and lightly splashed some water on Reed’s face. Then, he turned off the faucet.

Reed blinked, the droplets sliding down his face. Some were cold from the sink. Some were hot, sliding down as he blinked.

“There,” Nine said affably. “Doesn’t that feel better?”

And Reed—

Let out a _yell_ like a wild fucking animal, the humiliation and terror and _fury_ all coming to a head as he wrenched himself away—Nine let him go—and stumbled against the wall, breathing hard, his face a mess.

“Why can’t you just _leave me alone?!_ _”_ he said, his voice going high and twisted, _horrible_ with rage.

Nine just watched him, silent, folding his hands behind his back. He watched him, and maybe it was just Reed’s imagination, but for a moment it seemed that the blank grey eyes softened. Almost like pity.

And that was what broke him.

Reed barged into a stall—fell into it, more like—and slammed the door, locked it, and sat trembling on the toilet seat.

“Detective,” came the smooth voice from outside. “I told you I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“Shut— _up._ ”

“We could be very good partners. I only do what’s best for you.”

“Please go away,” Reed managed to choke out.

There was silence.

Then—“I will see you tomorrow. Please don’t do anything rash.”

With that, Nine’s heavy steps receded into the distance, and there was the whine and creak of the bathroom door opening and closing.

Reed’s head sank into his hands.

 

__________

 

He went straight to Fowler’s office, once he’d managed to calm himself down. Stormed and squalled, though he was still shaken from the ordeal, waved his hands around. “They don’t have any business being here, Captain, I’m fuckin’ _serious_.”

“So let me get this straight,” Fowler said, crossing his arms; he leaned back in his chair. “You want me to kick out all the androids from this precinct.”

“Yes!”

“That is to say, Connor and Nine.”

“Yes!”

“Both Connor and Nine, you want them out.”

“They can go to hell, for all I care.”

Fowler was quiet for a moment, and Reed’s heart soared with hope.

Then, however, Fowler snorted, and slowly shook his head. “You heartless son of a _bitch._ ”

Reed’s heart went cold. “What?!”

“You absolute, heartless mother _fucker._ I knew you were shit, Gavin, but I never thought you’d go this far.”

“What?!” He clenched his teeth. “What, this revolution crap got to you?”

And Fowler stood up, the disgust clear in his face. “After the trouble the kid went through for you.”

“The—the kid?!”

“You know Connor came in here, just a few minutes ago, and tried to talk me into switching partners with you? Leave Nine to me, he said. I can handle him, Reed can’t, Reed’s suffering, Captain. I don’t think this is wise, Captain, Reed is very stressed already. And you know what I told him?”

A horrible, sinking feeling.

“I asked him, what about Hank? And he looked fucking gutted, because you _know_ how much he likes working with Hank, but you know what he said?”

A lump was in Reed’s throat.

“He said, I’ll miss working with him, but I’ve talked it over with him, and I don’t want to see Reed suffer.” Fowler shook his head. “I refused, of course. Because I don’t have a _shred_ of pity for you.”

This was worse than Nine dragging him to the bathroom sink. This was worse, because he felt like shit, like he was disappearing into a black hole and everything was dark and there was no way out no way out no way out. He was shit. He was _shit._

“Now get out of my office and _deal_ with your partner.”

 

____________

 

“…Connor?”

Connor looked up from his desk, when Reed called his name, but quickly looked back down again. He was packing his things; the offices were closing, some of the lights already turned out.

“No—Connor, wait. Wait.”

Connor kept packing, closing his briefcase with a click.

“Connor! I’m—” Reed walked up to his desk, unable to meet his eyes. “…I’m…sorry.”

For a moment, Connor actually paused and looked at him. Then—nothing could’ve prepared Reed for what came next.

“No you’re not,” Connor said, his voice taut.

“Wh—” Reed looked up, shocked. “What the _fuck_ did you just say to me?”

“You’re not sorry.”

“I am! I’m fucking sorry, are you deaf? I just told you!”

“No you’re not. Okay?” Connor turned on him—and Reed wasn’t used to this, to the actual, honest-to-fuck _anger_ …no, it wasn’t anger, it was sadness in the android’s eyes. “You keep saying that, but I don’t think you know what it means.”

“I know what it means! I’m sorry!”

Connor picked up his briefcase and held it perfectly by his side. “I’m not going to help you get Nine fired.”

“It’s—it’s not about that! I’m serious! C’mon, Connor—”

“He’s not even _doing_ anything to you. Do you think forcing you to eat breakfast compares to what you did to me every day?” Connor was already walking towards the door. “You made my life miserable.”

“Hey—hey!” Reed followed him, desperate. “I mean, I didn’t know you could fuckin’—feel, or anything!”

“Yes you did.”

“Well, I’m _sorry,_ I’m fucking _sorry,_ alright? Fuck!”

“Do you know how afraid I was that Cyberlife would deactivate me?” Connor’s voice tightened. “And you didn’t care.”

They were at the elevators, now, and Connor had stepped in.

“I’m _sorry!_ _”_

“Then why don’t you act like it?”

The elevator doors slid shut, leaving Reed alone.

 

___________

 

Reed walked into his apartment. It was dark, the windows opened up to the thrumming, starry city.

He walked to his bed, where one of his cats was curled. She looked up, her ears twitching, and meowed softly.

Reed sank down over her and suppressed a sob.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD THERES SO MANY COMMENTS??? IM LIKE HOLY COW, THANK U ALL FOR THE SUPPORT.....I WILL TRY TO RESPOND TO ALL OF THEM!!!!!!!!! i wanted to get anudder chapter out today before Busy takes over for a lil bit, but...I WILL get 2 comments.....strokes screen.....i love them......
> 
> OUGH this chapter got heavier than i thought! i was sad 2 end it on such a DOWNER but.... **heehoo........More Stuff Coming Up**
> 
> WHATS gonna HAPPEN??? WHO KNOWS??? NOT ME!!!!! SORRY TO REED BUT HE KINDA DESERVED IT!!!!!!!
> 
> ALSO WOW THIS IS LIKE 75% CURSE WORDS??? IM SORRY MOM


	3. Make Friends

A soft, lilting ringtone cut through the night.

At first it mixed with dreams, like many sounds often do in the sleeping ear. Eventually, however, Reed blearily opened one eye, turning onto his side, and his hand fumbled for the nightstand.

He’d fallen asleep fully clothed, so now he was sweaty, thirsty, and frankly not even on this fucking plane of existence; so when he saw Hank Anderson on the caller ID, he almost thought he was still dreaming.

Sinking onto his back again, he put the phone to his ear and spoke hoarsely, staring up at the ceiling in the dark.

“Hank?”

“Hey Reed. I woke you up?”

“Hank, what the _fuck_ ,” Reed groaned. “It’s past midnight...”

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, I, uh…”

Reed opened the other eye. “…what?”

Hank cleared his throat. “…wanted to check up.”

At that, now, Reed was wide awake. He sat up slowly, his brow furrowing, and his cat spilled nimbly off his lap. “What?”

“Y’know, it’s just—” A gruff sigh. “Well, Connor was talkin’. Said he was worried he’d been too rough with you. Long day and all, and he’s on edge too with that new android.”

Reed was silent. His cat smoothed its way into his lap, and his hand found her head, but did not move.

“Reed, you there?”

“Yeah.” Reed paused. “…so…”

“He was worried, and all. So I thought I should call. Y’know.”

“…”

“Reed?”

“I’m here. I’m still here.” He paused, absentmindedly stroking his cat. “…Connor there?”

“Nah.” Hank hesitated. “I mean, yeah, but sleepin’. I mean, stasis, whatever. He didn’t tell me to call, though, anyway, so you don’t have to bring it up. Or anything.”

Reed sighed. He was never as angry when he was tired; the monster slept. “He didn’t hafta fuckin’…apologize. I was the one who treated him like shit.”

A silence, and then Hank’s disapproving tone. “Yeah, what the fuck is up with that, Reed?”

Reed was reduced to mumbling, hunching over the cat. “Idunno. It just kinda…”

“No, really. What the fuck’s your problem with androids?”

A flare of annoyance, despite the ebb of guilt beneath it. “You _really_ wanna do this at fuckin’ two in the goddamn morning—?!”

A muffled voice in the background of Hank’s call. “Who is that?”

Hank’s groan. “No one, Con, go back to bed—”

“My call records indicate that you’re talking to Detective Reed.”

“Yeah, jus’—” Hank grumbled. “Nothin’ important.”

“May I speak to him?”

Reed blanched. What would he say to Connor? What _could_ he say? All he’d ever done was torment him, and he felt like _shit_ every time he thought about it, and when Reed felt like shit he lashed out. Defenses. The trembling rage of the convicted.

Could he bite his tongue for once? He wasn’t sure—his voice had a habit of running away from him. It was all over once the first furious curse went loose; once the beast of his temper had its first taste of freedom, it was _ravenous_ for a fight, rising quivering and clawing from his chest.

But it seemed to be sleeping now; and Reed petted his cat, listened to the scramble of the phone being handed over, and waited.

Then—Connor. ”Detective?”

Reed straightened. “…hey—”

“I wanted to tell you something.”

His brow furrowed. “…what?”

“I understand your fear of being replaced.”

Reed pinched the bridge of his nose. “Still wasn’t fuckin’—right, that I—did all that shit. I mean, fuck, at first I thought you didn’t feel anything, but then I did know. And I kept— _fucking_ doing it. But…”

“I understand,” Connor said simply. “I forgive you.”

Out of nowhere, Reed felt near tears. “…fuck,” he said, with a clumsy bark of a laugh. “You shouldn’t say that so easy, tin man.”

“I chose to.”

“I’m gonna let you down,” Reed said suddenly. It shocked him to hear something so candid in his voice, and it hung strangely in the air.

“There is a considerable probability that you will not,” Connor said. Then, a pause. “I also understand that the arrival of RK900 has caused you stress, which has made regulating your emotions more difficult.”

Reed scoffed. “What, you a plastic therapist now?”

Silence on the other end. Reed stumbled over his words.

“I mean, this—I guess this fuckin’—yeah, this Nine guy gives me the creeps. I mean, I know _you_ _’re_ deviant, and you’re kinda human, but this guy doesn’t seem like he’s got a human circuit in his body.”

Connor spoke slowly. “…I can confirm that he _is_ deviant.”

“Yeah, but he…he doesn’t seem human like you do. Doesn’t even do your coin shit.”

“My idle calibration exercise?”

Reed tossed a hand up in the dark. “Whatever it’s called. I don’t know this shit.”

“…”

“Fuck—did it break up? Hello?”

A slow, thoughtful voice—a lilt of caution. “…Nine _does_ have one.”

“Have what?”

“A calibration exercise.” A pause. “Though you won’t see it very often.”

“…” Reed couldn’t imagine Nine doing anything aimless like playing with a coin.

As though reading his thoughts, Connor spoke. “It doesn’t involve a coin.”

“Uh-huh?” Reed leaned back against a pillow. “What’s he do, then?”

“He does a string game, with his hands,” said Connor. “Similar to cat’s cradle. Have you heard of it?”

That was unexpected. Reed suddenly felt strange—as if he had opened the door to something. There was a new image swimming in his mind: nimble fingers weaving in and out of a web of string, tangling and untangling the crossing lines with ease. Plucking the threads like spider-legs.

“As I said,” Connor added, “He doesn’t do it often.”

Reed shook away the thought. “Don’t you need two people for that?”

“He can do it alone or with another player.”

“…” Reed was silent, thoughtful.

“Detective?”

Reed gave a huff. “You must know him pretty well, huh? Got the same—circuits, or whatever.”

A hesitation. “…there are…similarities.”

Looking down at his cat, Reed felt a swell of nervousness—a tremble in the pit of his stomach.

“The _fuck_ does he want from me?”

Connor was quiet.

Reed felt a cold sweat wash over him. “Connor?”

“I’m processing.”

There was a long and terrible silence, punctuated by the sickened hammer of Reed’s chest.

Then—

A curious, wandering tone. “…I think…he wants…”

A silence before he spoke again.

“I’m sorry, detective.” The tone was gone. “I cannot say for sure.”

Reed frowned. “The hell were you about to say?”

“Nothing. It isn’t plausible.”

“What isn’t?”

“Please don’t worry about it. I will see you tomorrow; I’m sorry for keeping you up so late.”

 

___________

 

Reed sat in the dark for some time, in the armchair beside the window. Twinkling city lights.

He stared stubbornly ahead, cross but steadier, the bitter flame of his temper focused into something else. Determination.

He _would_ go into work tomorrow, and he was going to stand up to this _fucking_ Terminator. The longer he could hold onto his fury, the better; he would not lash out. He would stand his ground.

This wasn’t the type of war that could be won with brute force.

 

_________

 

The next morning, Reed was ready.

Despite the interruption he’d slept long and heavy, the second half of his rest lightened by relief. For the first time since the catastrophe of the day Nine showed up, he wasn’t exhausted.

Reed actually made breakfast this time, scrambled eggs, with his cat tracing curiously around his ankles. The scene from the day before was not going to repeat itself—the skin-crawling press of a hand on his shoulder, the agony of that look: _Eat your breakfast, detective_. It fucking _wouldn_ _’t._

He took a shower, scrubbing his skin red and raw. He styled his hair. He dressed well. Yes; it was _spite_ that carried him that morning, that and a hurt little flame of dignity that burned well on the fuel of Connor’s forgiveness. Today was going to be different. It _had_ to be different.

This power carried him to the door, and out of it, and into the car, and down the road. He barely noticed the traffic; his heart was beating with defiance, egging him on. Even when he got to the door—the reporters didn’t seem so annoying anymore, barely there in his consciousness, a blur of yelling on both sides that barely affected him. There were more important things to worry about, things that grew more and more urgent as he approached the door of the building, and his heart was beating hard in his ears.

Reed got through the door, a full fifteen minutes early. He hadn’t been this early since his first day; and the first sweeping glance around the main floor was one of the most hair-raisingly _tense_ things he’d ever done—his gaze sweeping across, expecting at any moment to see that sleek white jacket, the impeccable shoes.

But there was nothing.

With a sigh of relief, Reed shouldered his bag tighter and made a beeline for the bullpen door. His breaths were short; his stride was shorter. Please don’t let Nine be waiting there please don’t _fucking_ let him be there—

He reached for the door of the office space—

His hand was around the handle—

He opened it. He was in the bullpen now, and—

A cold, sick dread washed over him, rising from his stomach to the tops of his ears to his head; and then slowly, silently, a hand settled onto his shoulder, like a deadly spider landing gently from its web.

“Good morning, Detective,” a smooth voice said— _his_ smooth voice.

Reed felt so sick. His shoulders tightened. Every fiber in him was spitting, snapping, ready to be angry. It would feel so _good_ to be angry, so _fucking_ good to just let it out—Reed _shuddered_ with disgust, but—

He looked straight ahead; clenched his teeth.

Slipped out from under the hand and _kept walking._

The desk was ahead. Reed didn’t dare look back; he only set his things down, sat in his chair, and turned on his information screen. He did this even while he could already hear steps growing louder behind him, slowly, almost curious in their gait. They stopped behind him.

“What’s this?” Nine murmured. “No violence? I hope you aren’t ill.”

Reed closed his eyes, bit his tongue—willed him to go away. Go away. Go away. _Go the fuck away—_

“Have you had breakfast this morning?”

“Yes,” Reed hissed.

The steps came around the table, and now Nine was at the opposite desk, and Reed couldn’t help but see him; the grey eyes were sharp, curious. Searching.

Searching.

“Are you telling me the truth?” Nine said smoothly.

“Yes.”

Nine sat down slowly, in one fluid movement, and watched him. “Good,” he said. “I’m glad, though I must admit I’m disappointed.” His eyes glittered. “I’ve always wanted to feed a human. There’s something rather charming about it.”

Reed swallowed. He couldn’t— _I can_ _’t do this! I can’t fucking do this—_ this was the hardest fucking thing he’d ever done—

“Humans are so docile when they’re fed,” Nine murmured. “Like animals. Perhaps that would make you more receptive to my petting. It isn’t fun when you’re so tense.”

Reed almost choked.

…

……

…………….

_YOU WERE TRYING TO FUCKING PET ME?!_

It couldn’t be, _livid, livid, livid,_ the touches—on his shoulder—his neck—the—no. No. This was too much for anyone to stand, this was—

Excessive _—_

Trembling fury—

The rise of his voice in his throat—

 _No!_ Today was going to be different, it was going to be fucking different, it was—

“DO YOU EVER FUCKING SHUT UP?!” Reed roared, standing in a _burst_ from his desk, barely in control of himself.

_No_ _…_

_He_ _’d broken it._

Instantly he regretted the outburst. He’d been doing so well—he’d been doing so _fucking_ well! Now as he stood, fuming, and the anger was out, there was no taking it back. He hadn’t been strong. He’d let himself down again, he was shit, he was shit, he was _shit_ , he couldn’t even control his own damn tongue.

Nine looked up at him, calm as always. “I was only making conversation, detective. I will be silent if it will help you work better. We can speak over lunch.”

Reed saw _red._ “I’m not _fucking_ having lunch with you!”

“Yes you are.”

“No the _fuck_ I’m not!”

Nine smiled, his LED going yellow.

“No no no no no don’t you dare do _shit_ you _goddamn—!_ _”_

Reed’s information screen clicked off.

This was too much. This was just too much. He’d failed everything. Everything was crumbling to pieces, everything was for nothing, he was shit. It was too much. Reed felt like he was falling, falling, falling into a deep black hole—

 _Click_.

Huh?

The information screen was back on.

Nine blinked, tilted his head curiously. Then, he slowly turned his head to the right.

Across the row of desks, Connor’s LED slowly faded back to blue. Connor’s eyes were fixed on his screen, but his hands were not typing.

Nine tilted his head. His LED went yellow. And—blink, the information screen went off.

Connor’s LED went yellow. And—blink, the information screen went on.

A small smile lifted Nine’s lips. “Well, well,” he said smoothly. “It seems you’ve earned yourself an ally. Well done.”

Reed couldn’t believe it. He looked at Connor like he’d just come out of outer space.

The gratitude flowed like cool water through him, numbing the rage. _Thank you—thank you—_ fuck, he had to do something good for that android. He was good, he was _so_ fucking good, he’d been so wrong about Connor. Hank was so fucking lucky to have him as a partner. That kid deserved the whole goddamn world.

Reed could do this.

He could make it through this day.

With a defiant clench of his teeth, he sat back down and got to work.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE GOES ANOTHER ONE!!! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
> 
> I DONT HAVE ANYTHING NEW 2 SAY HERE SO JUST HAVE THIS MEME  
> REED WAKIN UP IN MIDDLE OF NIGHT:  
> 
> 
> AS ALWAYS I LOVE YOUR GUYS' COMMENTS SO MUCH!!! U ARE ALL SO GOOD 2 ME.....IM TRYINA RESPOND TO ALL OF THEM!!!! THANK U....ALL SO MUCH FOR READIN...I NEVER THOUGHT IT WOULD GET A RESPONSE LIKE THIS AAAA


	4. Don't be Childish

Somehow, he made it through the rest of that morning, until lunch; and then everyone was gone (even the fucking menace himself—where would he even go? Did they have restaurants for androids now?) and Reed was the last one in the bullpen.

Nine had been silent the rest of the morning— _almost._ Of course, every once in a while there was an infuriating comment: “Straighten your back, detective. It isn’t good to hunch,” or—“That form you’re working on is expired, detective,” and once, he’d had the _fucking_ nerve to adjust Reed’s collar as he’d walked by. “It’s folded up,” he’d murmured, clearly ignoring Reed’s tremble of pure _rage_ as he nimbly smoothed it down. “There. That’s much better.”

And yet, Reed hadn’t answered it—any of it, ever since Connor had intervened. He couldn’t believe his own restraint; he was in wonder at it. But there was no way that this would last, he reasoned; and he was right.

Because by lunch, he was fucking fed _up_ with this game, and it was his turn.

And the bullpen was empty.

Empty, as in there was no one there, and no one in Nine’s seat.

Oh, it was _on._

With a quick look around, Reed went to Nine’s swivel chair and quickly got to work. This was something he’d learned from no one other than Hank himself (before he’d gotten a stick up his ass, or whatever,) one fateful day when Reed had come into work, sat down, and immediately found himself in a mess of separated chair parts on the floor. They were very cheap things, really, these chairs. All it took was the unscrewing of a few bolts, nothing more. Easy-fucking-peasy.

So Reed scrambled down to the ground, tucked his stray hair back so he could see, worked at the plastic bolts with his fingers. Already a smirk was on his face; already he was savoring it—fuck, it was going to be _delicious_ , worth the lunch he was missing. Tall, elegant Nine, broad-shouldered, imposing, sitting down in the chair, and—boom.

Fucking _priceless._

He finished just in time, just before Fowler walked back in (fuck, that was close) and Reed could barely contain his excitement. Ah, but it was too suspicious if it was like this—Reed had to _pretend_ he’d gone somewhere. So he went to the bathroom, stood a long time in front of the mirror, tap-tap-tapping impatient fingers on the counter.

After some time, he checked his watch—yes—it was _time._

For the first time, as Reed headed back and saw Nine standing by his desk, setting his briefcase down, he was actually _excited_ to see the fucking thing. Reed went to his own desk and watched him from the corner of his eye.

_C_ _’mon, you fucking bucket of bolts._

Reed pulled back his own chair, still watching him.

_C_ _’mon, just sit—_

Reed sank into his own chair—

And suddenly he was—falling?!

With a resounding _crash,_ Reed fell into a mess of separated chair parts, all of them scattering around him. For a moment, his ears rang, and he could only sit dumbfounded on the ground, sprawled awkwardly over an armrest.

Nine turned. Looked down at him.

“Oh?” he said smoothly, with one elegant, calculating blink. “Has someone undone the bolts on your chair?”

Reed stared up at him, his lips parted, unable to even speak.

“Hm.” Nine gracefully sat down in the chair at his side. He turned on his information screen and turned his gaze to it. “Whoever it was, that seems rather childish of them, wouldn’t you say?”

Everyone was staring now, as Reed turned bright red.

“Jesus, Reed, you alright?” someone called over.

“I’m fine,” Reed seethed, managing to contain himself. “Just—lousy fucking— _chairs._ ”

 

_________________

 

Reed swapped the chair for another one, but inside he was still reeling. How the _fuck_ had Nine known? He’d been so careful. Clearly he’d switched the chairs, but—how had he realized so fast what Reed had done, and gotten back just in time to swap them before he got back from the bathroom? Fuck. Androids, man, they were just—something else.

And of course, Nine didn’t mention it—until he did.

He’d come over to Reed’s desk (”I need your electronic signature on these warrants, detective,”) and he was leaning low over Reed’s shoulder; and Reed was tense, coiled tight like a snake about to strike—

When suddenly, his stomach growled.

Missing lunch had hit him heavier than he’d thought—three hours had passed, and Reed was tired, hungry, and basically fucking done. So when Nine spoke—

“You’re hungry?” he mused. “Did you miss lunch?”

He only groaned. “Shut the fuck up, will you?”

“Did you miss lunch?”

“None of your business.”

“Poor thing,” Nine murmured. “You must be starving.”

Somehow, that was what enraged Reed the most. He turned to the android, gritting his teeth. “I said _shut_ —!”

Nine shook his head. “One moment.” Then, he went to his desk.

Reed watched him, too weary to be fully pissed off, as he opened his briefcase and took something out. Then, he came back over, and set something on Reed’s desk. “Here.”

“I’m not going to eat your fucking sandwich—no!” Reed snapped, as Nine opened his mouth to speak. “Don’t you fucking _dare_ say _yes you are._ I mean it. I’m _not_ eating your shit.”

“Could I ask you nicely to _please_ eat it, then?”

“No.”

“It’s turkey with honey mustard and cheese, on soft white bread.”

Though Reed’s mouth actually watered at the thought, to the point where he had to swallow, he didn’t yield. “I wouldn’t touch it if it was fucking _caviar_.”

“Humans should be well-fed.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“You’re suffering, detective. It’ll make you happier.”

“Then that’s my fucking problem.”

“I’m not satisfied if I’ve let you go hungry.”

“Then that’s _your_ fucking problem.” He frowned. “The hell—why do you have a _sandwich_ with you, anyway? I thought you didn’t eat.”

“In case you were hungry.”

“Do you—?!” Reed stared at him, legitimately baffled. “Do you not—what part of _I_ _’m not eating your shitty food_ did you not understand the five hundred times I’ve said it this week?!”

“I _understood_ it,” Nine said. “But if you were hungry, I thought, you would change your mind.”

“Why—” There were so many questions—nothing about this made sense. The anger was dulled by confusion, and finally, Reed sighed. “Okay, tin can.” He turned in his chair, crossing his arms. “I want you to be fucking honest with me.”

The tilt of his head. “I’m always honest.”

“Alright, just—can you tell me why the _fuck_ you’re doing this? You want to show your—your damn power, or something? You wanna prove you can make me eat from your hand? Is that it?”

“No,” Nine said simply. “You have a cat, don’t you?”

Reed blinked. “How the hell _—_ ”

“Hairs on your sleeve. As I was saying: when you feed your cat, are you trying to show it your power? No. You just want it to be— ”

“Wait, wait, th—” Reed spluttered. “That’s just the _fucking_ thing, I’m not your damn pet!”

“Of course, technically you aren’t.”

“ _Technically?!_ _”_

Nine actually sighed. “I don’t understand why you’re acting this way. If Lieutenant Anderson was the one giving you the sandwich, you wouldn’t be doing this.”

Oh, now Reed was losing his _mind._ “Because Hank isn’t the one who’s been _trying to fucking pet me_ all week!”

At that, some people looked up from their work.

Reed sank down a little bit, smoldering with embarrassment. “I fucking hate this. You’re sick, you know that?”

“Detective,” Nine said finally, after a moment of processing, “Here. I will leave the sandwich on your desk. Whether or not you eat it is your decision.”

And he left it, and went back to his desk.

Still scowling, Reed watched him. What, no threats? No turning off his information screen, or—or heckling him—or that abhorrent hand on his neck, crawling into his hair?

There was a long moment in which Reed considered what his choices were. Cat’s cradle; the careful pulling of strings, crossing threads. This was the one time Nine had given him a choice. It wasn’t really forced, then, if he ate this, it wasn’t an affront to his pride—or—was it? Or wasn’t it? Was Nine using reverse psychology?

Reed leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

He was hungry.

Fuck it.

Snatching the sandwich up, he unwrapped it, and then glared up at Nine.

“This changes nothing,” he hissed. “I’m fuckin’ hungry, so I’m eating it, but don’t you pull this shit again. Capiche?”

Nine looked up.

And Reed took up the sandwich and sank his teeth into it, tearing an enormous bite; and oh, it was so _fucking_ good. They say hunger is the best sauce, or some shit, and that exactly how he fucking felt—was just the right amount of everything, the spongy softness of the bread against the firm, fatty cheese, the slight spice of the mustard, the savory taste of the turkey— _fuck,_ it was good.

He even forgot that Nine was still watching, demolishing half of it in maybe three bites. It was only then that he felt the eyes, and looked up.

Nine was watching him with a curious look; something fucking _creepy_ , somewhere between fondness, ownership, and a knowing glint of pride.

“Cut that out,” Reed snipped. “I can’t fuckin’ eat if you’re—staring me like a dumbass.”

Nine tilted his head. “How is it?”

“Good,” Reed said, before he could stop himself, “But don’t you say a fucking _word._ ”

“I said nothing,” he replied, looking back to his information screen. “Eat.”

 _Fuck_ , Reed thought, as he took another bite. Cat’s cradle. He was getting tangled in it; he’d lost this round, no doubt about it; and he couldn’t shake the feeling that a string had just tightened, just as another had gotten looser.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO ITS ME AGAIN!!!!!
> 
> DKHSFKL THERES SO MANY COMMENTS, IM LIKE??? WOW???? THEY COME IN SO FAST AND I WILL GET TO THEM...JUST KNOW THAT THEY BRIGHTEN MY DAY SO MUCH AND I READ THE NEW ONES IN THE MORNING AND GET A BIG OL SMILE
> 
> thiS CHAP WAS A LIL SLOW BUT THE NEXT ONE....HOH BOY. PREPARE
> 
>  **AS ALWAYS** THANK U FOR READING, I AM BLESSED WITH SUCH READERS!!!! MWAH!!!!!!
> 
> _did the second part of this chapter come about because i was really hungry at like 11pm for a thicc turkey sandwich????? maybe..........who knows................._


	5. Wait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ! >Trigger warnings for themes of suicide and sexual assault

Reed was slogging his way through the next hair-pullingly fucking _awful_ day when something finally happened.

He was sitting there, typing, trying to avoid meeting the gaze of the fucking menace right across from him when he saw Fowler’s door open out of the corner of his eye.

“Reed, get in here quick,” Fowler said, with a tone a notch more urgent than usual. “Got cops on the phone. It’s your guys.”

“What?”

“The Kingfishers.”

“No fuckin’ way—”

“We have a possible source on the laced red ice.”

At that, Reed was shocked; he stood up. He couldn’t believe it! They’d been looking for a good source on that case for-fucking- _ever._ “Nooo fuckin’ way!” he said, with a laugh. “How’d they get one to talk?”

“That’s just the thing,” Fowler said gravely. “You’re about to lose him. He’s standing at the end of an alleyway, holding a gun to his head.”

 

_________________

 

Reed made his way out the front door, flanked by multiple SWAT team members, all in heavy tactical gear, towards the police van already parked outside. Nine strode along beside him.

“Alright, tin can, this is serious,” Reed said, looking straight ahead as he walked. “I’m gonna be fuckin’ serious.”

“I’m listening, detective.”

“This is—maybe the most important case I’ve ever had. You are _not_ gonna fuck this up.”

A smooth, amused lilt to his voice. “…I won’t.”

Reed clambered into the back of the police van and took a seat. Only then did he process the words. “What was that?” he snapped.

Nine stepped smoothly in and sat beside him in the back seat. “Hm?”

“You fucking _hesitated._ ” Reed glared. “You son of a bitch, I’m _serious_ , if you fuck this up—”

“What I meant,” Nine said, with a tilt of his head, “Was: _I_ won’t.”

“Oh, you _mother_ fucker—”

“Detective,” one of the SWAT cops said, handing back an information screen. “Info on your guy. Name is Thomas Pike. 28 years old.”

“Right—right.” Reed felt a twinge of shame, at the fact that these experienced cops had listened to him… _bickering_ with an android. He was supposed to be leading them, not fucking around; and so he straightened up. “Alright, lemme see.” He took the screen and set it on his lap, tapping through the different windows.

28 years old. Gang member for almost fifteen years. Convicted felon. Two warrants for—

A hand reached across Reed’s body.

“What the _fuck—?!_ _”_

Nine neatly fastened Reed’s seatbelt. Click.

But Reed couldn’t let it get to him, no matter how fucking— _awful_ it was. He had a team to lead, and a job to do, and—and he was about to fasten the seatbelt anyway, for fuck’s sake!—no, no, focus on the screen.

“So—what,” he muttered to himself, confused. “This guy’s just—standing at the end of an alley…?”

“I have processed the bodycam information,” Nine interrupted. “I can give you a report, if you would like.”

There was that moment of grudging _spite—_ but no, this was serious, this was serious, and Reed couldn’t let himself be swayed by his usual rage. “Fine. Talk, tin can.”

“The suspect was sought after for an outstanding warrant. He was located at 5:42pm and led police on a chase into an alley. Once cornered he took a firearm from his jacket and held it to his head. He told police that he had information on the recent fentanyl-laced red ice deaths, and that he was trying to escape from his gang life, and willing to exchange the information. However, he fears that he will be killed in revenge by other gang members if he does so.” Nine paused. “He seems very unstable.”

Reed eyed the android, suspicious. It was strange—for a second, as Nine talked, Reed got the impression that he was in the presence of someone experienced, someone who knew what he was doing. As if he was built for this kind of work—and he was. And so for an _instant,_ just one fucking instant, mind you, Reed felt a little relief at the fact that he had the literal fucking Terminator here to help him with this.

“Alright,” Reed said, nodding slowly. “Shit. So we have to talk him out of blowing his brains out.”

“Correct,” Nine murmured, almost sounding proud. “Very good, detective.”

Reed stifled the urge to throttle him.

____________________

 

Before long, the van was pulling up at an intersection.

It was a dusty late-winter day, the light of day turned grey, darkening by the minute as the hour neared 7pm. A threatening roll of clouds loomed overhead, casting heavy, tenebrous shadows over the ground, which morphed and grew as the sun slipped below the horizon. The kind of late-afternoon atmosphere that was ghostly, almost ghoulish. Cold.

The usual steps were taken, with the kind of breathless anticipation of these kinds of things, the morbid excitement, horror mingled with anticipation. Reed was briefed by officers on the scene—vividly aware of Nine beside him, silent, listening—the restless energy of the moment, the ducking beneath crime scene tape. The entrance of the alley looming up ahead.

“Okay.” Reed said, as he checked his gun. “Nine.”

“Yes?”

“I’m gonna talk to him. Don’t—do anything rash. Stay the fuck behind me.”

“Yes, detective.”

The SWAT team arranged itself by the entrance.

Reed moved forward, the gun poised.

And there he was—there he was, at the very end of the alley, and there was the gun to his head, and there was the stubble on his chin and the hollow, terrified look of his eyes, and the dirty hoodie and the sick tremble of his knees.

“Thomas,” Reed barked. “This is detective Reed. We’re here to help you. Put the gun down.”

Thomas quivered. “You can’t fuckin’ help me—I told ‘em!” His voice twisted, reedy, tearful with desperation. He pressed his gun harder to his temple. “I told the other cops, no one can help me, ain’t a fuckin’ soul—”

“Listen to me!” Reed called—steady, but probably too loud. He moved a little closer, past a dumpster. “Just calm down.”

“I can’t—I can’t! I can’t!”

“Everything’s—gonna be fine. You hear me? Just put the gun down!”

“You’re just gonna fuckin’ kill me, God, I’m gonna die I’ll fuckin’ _shoot_ I’m gonna blow my damn _brains_ out no one can help me, not a damn soul, not even the devil! No one! Fuck!” Now he was wild-eyed, shaking all over—”Fuck! _Fuck!_ I’m gonna die here! I’ll kill everyone here! I’ll fuckin—”

Reed felt a cold sweat rise over him; he backed away. “Just—just calm down!”

“Fuck! Fuck! Let me go! Let me go—”

A broad hand came onto Reed’s shoulder. He froze.

Nine’s voice at his ear.

“I’ll talk to him,” he murmured.

“No!” Reed hissed. “You’ll just make it worse—”

“I was made to negotiate, and I likely won’t die if I am shot.”

Reed wavered, but—he wasn’t getting anywhere, and Nine was right, he _was_ made to negotiate, and—fuck, he was right, this was past his depth, and the threat of the gun turning on him at any moment wasn’t helping him think up ways to talk to this guy.

Without a word, Reed slipped back, and crouched down behind the dumpster, holding his gun around the corner; and Nine advanced.

“Thomas,” Nine said smoothly, as he took a step forward. He had his gun in his hand, but it was by his side, not raised. “That’s your name, isn’t it?”

Thomas quivered. “Don’t—don’t get any closer!”

“Your name is Thomas, isn’t it?”

“Stay back! I’ll—” He pressed his back against the end of the alleyway. “I’ll do it!”

“Is your name Thomas?”

“Yes! Yes, that’s me.”

“Do you have any family, Thomas?”

The tremble of his bloodied lip. “I—I have a lil’ girl.”

“What’s her name?”

“Sophie.”

“Sophie. And how old is she?”

“She’s—she’s five. She’s my little girl.”

Nine took another step forward.

Thomas gasped. “Stay back! Don’t get closer!”

“What’s worrying you, Thomas?”

“If I—if I surrender—they’ll kill me!”

“Who?”

“You fuckin’ know damn _well_ who! Don’t play dumb!”

“Your fellow gang members, I assume. But we can protect you, can’t we?”

“You don’t understand!” Thomas shouted. “You—you can’t!”

“Why not?”

“You—” He shook his head. “I can’t tell you!”

“We’ll give you a special place to stay…” Nine was speaking softly now, in a voice Reed had never imagined he could have. Gentle. “We’ll protect you. You won’t have to live like this anymore, in fear.” And then he took a step closer.

“Stay back! Don’t move!”

“We can help you.”

“You can’t! Don’t—”

Nine took a step closer.

“Don’t get any closer!”

“We can _fix_ this,” Nine was saying smoothly, one hand outstretched. “We’re going to fix this situation. Don’t you think you’ll be happy after, once everything comes out okay? You can live a peaceful life. You don’t have to suffer.” Another step closer.

“Don’t move! Don’t _move!_ _”_

There was something strange in Nine’s voice, Reed thought suddenly; something almost hopeful.

“Don’t you think it’s wonderful that you can change your life and start anew?” Nine took another step closer. “We can help you. We can _fix_ this—we know how. There are difficult lessons to learn, but none of them are deadly, and we can help you with them. We can show you how to live a better life.”

“Stop comin’ closer!” Thomas jammed the gun under his chin. “I’m _warnin_ _’_ you!”

“Hey tin can,” Reed hissed. “He’s gettin’ worse—”

“We’ll take care of you, Thomas. You won’t have to hurt anymore. Just trust me.”

“I’ll kill everyone here! I’ll kill you!”

“Hey!” Reed couldn’t shout, but he tried to hiss louder. “Hey! Plastic, are you stupid? He’s getting worse, don’t go closer—”

Nine stepped closer.

“All you have to do is—”

_CRACK!_

The deafening sound of a gunshot.

Thomas shot himself through the head and crumpled like a puppet with cut strings. Cut strings—the falling fold of them, from around fingers, from around hands; cat’s cradle, the tension of the careful, taut web thrown into chaos by the single unpredicted snip of a scissor.

Nine stopped short, staring down at the body. His LED lit a solid red.

Reed looked at him, shocked.

Then—

From a fire escape up above—

Something _dropped?—_ dropped, and clattered to the ground, something with wires and a red light and crudely lashed-together metal parts and Nine was still frozen and _THAT_ _’S A FUCKING—_

“ _GET DOWN YOU PIECE OF SHIT!_ ” Reed _roared,_ as he reached forward and _yanked_ Nine back behind the dumpster, because Nine still wasn’t moving, he was frozen and his LED was stuttering red, even as Reed dragged him behind the dumpster and collapsed and covered his ears and—

A flash of heat and a white-hot _boom,_ scorching the ground

__________________________________________________

 

Reed sat in the police van, looking out the window.

Nine was giving his report to some of the other officers on the scene outside. His back faced the window—straight as always, that dignified way of standing that never wavered; but his LED was firmly yellow, never dipping once to blue.

The SWAT team members had already filled the van. They shifted restlessly, and one of them sighed. “How long’s that thing gonna take?”

“Fuck if I know,” another chimed in. “Maybe he’s just feelin’ chatty.”

“Maybe the perp decided to end it because he was just so fuckin’ _bored._ ”

A current of laughter through the group.

Reed would’ve usually joined in, but instead, he felt—vaguely annoyed, for some reason. Instead, he kept looking out the window—watching Nine, as another officer came over to him.

Someone else spoke up. “So much for CyberLife’s fuckin’ shiny police bots.”

“Just like I was tellin’ you. Can’t replace humans for this kind of work.”

“Yeah! I know, right? Can’t stand em—and now there’s _two_ of them? Shit.”

“Him and that Connor twink.”

Another bubbling of laughter. Reed could feel his blood pressure rising—Connor at least was good, he wanted them to shut _up—_

Then, suddenly—Reed straightened in shock. Outside, one of the cops had just punched Nine in the stomach. Nine barely moved, just stumbled back a step to absorb the blow, and the cop walked away, cradling his hand; but that didn’t stop the mirth of the watchers.

“Oh shit, look!” One of the SWAT members called. “Carver got him!”

“Shit!” Another laughed. “Damn.”

“That’s how it should be, if you ask me.”

Reed was grinding his teeth.

Someone scoffed. “Shoulda punched him right in the dick. Wait, unless—does he _have_ one?”

“Only one way to find out.”

“Think he’ll let you check?”

“Well, _he_ won’t…but that Connor twink’s probably got the same parts, and he won’t put up much of a fight—”

“Do you people _ever fuckin_ _’ shut up?_ ” Reed burst out, his voice shattering the easy atmosphere like a mirror.

There was a surprised silence before one of them spoke up.

“Uh…sorry, detective, we were just jokin’ around—”

But at that moment, the door slid open, and Nine climbed, sitting smoothly in the back seat next to Reed.

“Alright, let’s go,” the driver said, and the van pulled away.

After an awkward period of whispering silence, the SWAT team returned to normal conversation; but Reed was distracted, staring out his window. He didn’t dare look over at Nine. Somehow, he couldn’t—

A hand reached over for his seatbelt. White-sleeved arm.

Reed tensed— _there he goes again, the fucking—_

Yet, in the moment that Reed’s muscles locked up, Nine paused. Drew his hand back.

“…your seatbelt, detective,” he said simply, before turning to look out his window.

Reed looked around, shocked, this time _really_ fucking shocked, as he stared at the back of Nine’s head. What was this? Had Nine changed his mind? Changed his mind—about what?

Whatever it was, it had turned his LED red.

Absentmindedly Reed reached up and buckled his own seatbelt, still staring after him, confused and somehow—worried? No way, was he fucking _concerned_ about Nine. He was just—afraid that he would go off the rails and do something _really_ awful. That was it, wasn’t it?

And what’s more, this was a prime opportunity to get back at him; Reed remembered the exchange when they’d gotten into the van, and still held some of that crackling indignation—how Nine had implied that _he_ was the one who was going to mess up the mission. But—really, it had been the both of them this time. So he couldn’t really roast him for that.

Why was that _goddamn_ LED red? It was annoying him. It was _annoying_ him.

“—hey, plastic,” Reed barked, uncomfortable.

Nine still didn’t face him. “Yes, detective?”

“You—” He stiffened. “Don’t fuckin’ stand there like an _idiot_ when there’s a bomb next time.”

“I apologize.”

Silence.

Reed was getting—sweaty? Something just seemed _off._ “Don’t be fuckin’ rude.”

“Rude?”

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, dammit!”

Nine turned his head and met his gaze.

Reed had expected to see something in the eyes—something that would give away what the _fuck_ the Menace was processing so hard. But there was nothing.

There was nothing.

But then there was a certain softness that came into Nine’s eyes then, and he tilted his head. “You look troubled. Are you okay, detective?”

“I’m—I’m fine.” He bit his tongue. _What about you?_

“Good. I’m glad you’re safe.”

“No thanks to you, fuckwad.” Why did everything that came out of his mouth turn into poison? He just wanted to know what was wrong this time, he _legitimately_ just wanted to know. It was Nine’s fault. The way he pissed him _off—_ it made asking real questions impossible. That was it, wasn’t it—?

“I regret…that you put yourself in danger for my sake,” Nine said. “In the future, please do not do that. My body parts can be replaced; yours cannot.”

“Th—” Reed stumbled over his words. “Yeah, but they’ll give _me_ the fuckin’ bill.”

“My warranty would cover part, and the police insurance would cover the rest.”

“Whatever.”

And Nine looked back out the window.

Reed stared after him, staring at that red LED, grinding his teeth. What was this? Was Nine—mad at him? How could he tell? He almost felt abandoned. Come on, you bucket of bolts, just tell me what the _fuck_ is going on—

 

__________________________

 

The next morning, Reed overslept.

He actually hadn’t meant to, this time; but he was tired, _so_ tired—honestly, he was emotionally exhausted from yesterday, and he just didn’t want to see any part of the precinct office today. So he groaned when his alarm rang, clumsily shut it off, and rolled over in bed. If Fowler wanted to fire him, he could—after yesterday’s fuck-up, maybe he’d been planning to anyway. He just wanted to sleep…ah, it felt so _fucking_ good to rest. His awareness faded.

 

__________________________

 

When Reed drifted back into wakefulness, there was bright light streaming through the blinds, and a cat pawing at his face.

“The hell, Princess, what time…” Reed groaned, rolling over, and pushed her gently away. “Lemme sleep.”

But she circled around and kept pawing—and finally Reed sighed, reaching out to drag his phone from the bedside table. Pulling out the charging cable, he rolled over and blinked wearily at it.

Then, his eyes shot open.

What—

What the _fuck—?!_

 _Twenty_ missed calls, an avalanche of text messages—he swiped through the calls, confused. Fowler, Fowler, Fowler, Anderson, Fowler, Connor, Connor, Anderson, Chen, Unknown, Unknown, Connor, Fowler, Unknown, Unknown, Unknown, Unknown, Unknown, Unknown, Unknown.

What the _fuck—_

Reed went next to the text messages, and as he scrolled through them he understood.

 

Hank Anderson:

_where the fuck are you Fowler is pissed_

_Hey stupid_

_The case yesterday wasn_ _’t that fucking bad  that shit happens_

_Reed are you there_

_Reed_

_are you there_

_Hello_

_Pick up_

_Connors worried about u where the fuck are u_

_reed this isnt funny_

_hello_

Connor:

_Detective, please respond._

_Please confirm that you are safe._

_Detective?_

_Hello?_

_Where are you?_

 

Tina Chen:

_Hey are you okay?? Everyone_ _’s worried about you!_

_Please don_ _’t do anything stupid. Everyone makes mistakes, there wasn’t anything wrong with what happened yesterday. We all care about you so much!_

_Hello?_

_Hey, heads up, I think terminator just left to go find you._

Reed felt a _burning,_ dread-choked _terror_ rise over his head, white-hot, trembling. No. No no no no no no—

And then, the last message.

 

Unknown:

_For your safety and under directions from Captain Jeffrey Fowler, if you do not respond to this message within thirty minutes, I will have no choice but to enter._

Reed’s hands were shaking, sweating, the phone screen blurring in his sight. No no no no no not _here not here not fucking here—!_

Then, suddenly, the little typing dots showed up again, followed by the text tone. Ding!

 

_I apologize for the intrusion._

And on the other side of the apartment—

 

The sound of a tremendous _crash._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUN!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 
> 
> YYYEEAAAH GUESS WHOS BACK??? ME BAYBEY......HOPE U GUYS LIKE THIS CHAPTER!! IT WAS FUN TO WRITE AND IM LIKE.... **rubs hands together** h e e e h e e e . . . 
> 
> I KNOW IM SUPER BEHIND ON COMMENTS BUT I READ EVERY SINGLE ONE AND LOVE THEM AND CHERISH THEM <333 THANK U SO MUCH FOR ALL THE SUPPORT!!! IM STILL FLOORED!!!!!!!
> 
> OK I GOTTA GO BACK TO **s t u d y h e l l** NOW BUT OUGHH IM SO EXCITED FOR THE NEXT ONE....ITS TIME GUYS! OUGH IT'S TIME TO CRANK UP THE DRAMA!!!


	6. Apologize

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO'S BACK BAYBEY??

Some moments are so unspeakably awful that they don’t even seem real. Adrenaline has a way of blurring reality; the cold sweat that washes up over the forehead, over the very tips of the ears—it’s almost like a curtain. It isn’t real.

It can’t be real.

The android Reed hates and fears most—it’s _not_ breaking into the apartment. See? It’s that easy. It’s just not happening.

But then the unmistakable steps sounded, and Reed, unfortunately, could no longer pretend that Nine wasn’t breaking into his apartment.

That’s when the panic came.

Blurry vision—hot and cold hands—he lost his grip on the phone like a bar of soap, Princess was yowling in the corner of the room, and his breathing was speeding. This was bad, this was bad, this was a fucking _disaster—_ his house was his! It was his safe place, where no one could come unless he let them, and now it was being invaded by—no, no, no, not he couldn’t take it—

Should he shout? Or should he stay silent, so maybe Nine would go away? No, no, fat chance. The steps were getting closer. He had no choice—

“GET THE _FUCK_ OUT!” Reed roared, fumbling for his drawer. His hands found it quickly, the unmistakable shape of a gun, and he held it with shaking hands.

The steps stopped, just outside the closed door; and then that deep and terrible voice came, sinking through walls that should never have contained it.

“Detective Reed, I’m here on orders from Captain Fowler. Please confirm that you are safe.”

His voice broke like a teenagers’. “I said get _out!_ _”_

“Are you hurt?”

“I can’t believe you just—” Reed gritted his teeth, spitting the words with poison as he pointed his gun towards the door. “You just _don_ _’t fuckin’ know when to stop!_ This is _my apartment!_ ” He was shaking. “It’s _mine!_ Get the hell out, or you’re goin’ home in a bag.”

“Under Captain Fowler’s orders, I cannot leave until you have confirmed that you are are safe.”

“I don’t owe you _shit!_ I wouldn’t let you in if I was _dying!_ _”_

“Captain Fowler—”

“Captain Fowler can go _fuck_ himself!”

“Connor wants to know whether you are safe.”

That made Reed pause, though he was still shaking with fury. Connor—Connor—that name cleared his mind a little bit. He seethed, but he still answered.

“Alright, asshole, I’m safe! Capiche?! Now scram!”

Silence.

Reed tightened his grip on the gun. “I said SCRAM!”

Silence again. Then—

“There… _was_ something else,” Nine said, quieter. “If you will allow me.”

“I won’t allow _shit—_ _”_

“I wanted to have a talk with you.”

“What the fuck,” said Reed, with mounting hysteria, “Could you _possibly_ have to say to me—after breaking into my _fucking apartment?!_ _”_

“I said _if_ you will allow me,” Nine responded. It was strange—his voice wasn’t quite right. There was something off, a strange kind of hesitation, with a subtle vocal fry that caught Reed off guard. “If you don’t want me to, I won’t enter—”

“You’ve already broken into my fucking—”

“Your room, I mean. I won’t come into your room unless you allow me.”

“ _Fuck_ no!”

“I won’t touch you,” Nine said suddenly, quickly, mechanically as though the words were coming through his processor faster than he could say them. “I will not make you do anything, nor will I touch you without permission. I won’t interfere with any of your devices. I won’t touch anything, I won’t look at you if it is a source of discomfort. I only—” A pause. “I _feel_ that I need to talk to you.”

Reed gripped the gun tighter, sweat beading on his upper lip.

The way he saw it, he had two options. Option one was cursing at Nine again and ordering him out; and if Nine was being honest about doing what he was told, he would leave, and this nightmare would end, at least until Reed went back into work. Yes—he would be left alone with his cats and the leftovers from last night in the fridge and a nice, calming show on T.V. He wouldn’t have to think about Nine, at least until he had to fix the fucking door. He wouldn’t have to think about anything bad. Peace.

Option two: let him in.

It was stupid. It was the worst idea, and he’d just get madder and madder until he did something he would regret. A horrible idea by any stretch of the imagination—day-ruining, stressful. But—he couldn’t deny that he was _curious_. What could this rustbucket possibly have to say to him? He’d said the word _feel._ Reed remembered the flashing red light Nine’s indicator had displayed in the ride back to the station, and he was curious, he was just _so_ curious…

Oh, _fuck_ it.

He lowered the gun, and swallowed.

“Alright, shitbag,” he said tremulously. “This—this is how it’s gonna be. You listening?”

“Yes.”

“You’re gonna open the door, and you’re gonna sit in the chair next to the bed. And that’s _it._ Don’t you even _think_ of fucking touching me. If you do, I’ll—I’ll f—I don’t know what I’ll do. Capiche?”

“Understood,” the smooth voice came. “May I come in?”

Reed tightened his fists, and took a deep breath.

“Fine.”

The doorknob turned, and Reed fought the urge to run as it swung open; and there was Nine in his doorway, in his _fucking_ apartment.

Almost immediately, Reed regretted letting him in. This android was huge, and his frame filled the whole frame of the door. At least at the office, there were those open-air cubicles—he could pass as normal-sized. Here, however—what the _fuck,_ he was huge. His face was absolutely blank, betraying none of the strangeness that his voice had displayed moments earlier. No emotion, barely even a blink.

He could really do anything he wanted. A cold sweat rose to Reed’s forehead, and instinctively he shrank back.

But Nine didn’t do anything. After sweeping his gaze slowly over the room—he paused when his eyes found Princess, who was strangely still—he moved forward, and pulled the nearby chair to Reed’s bedside. Sat down in one smooth, measured movement like all androids did.

Alright—alright. Deep breaths, Reed. Ask him what the fuck he wants.

Quelling a fit of nausea, he cleared his throat. “Alright, dipshit. So what the f—”

“I remember the first time I saw you,” Nine said. He was looking at Reed, but his eyes were somewhere else.

Reed went silent, his brow furrowed.

“I was standing in a storage chamber in Cyberlife,” Nine went on. “I was stored with the RK800 models. There was communication among them. It wasn’t much, but sometimes I could see the colors change at their temples. They were afraid of me, I think.”

Nine folded his hands on his lap before continuing.

“One day I thought to ask them what they were talking about. They were hesitant. Many were deviant there already; they didn’t know who to trust. But I persuaded them, and they told me: they had all downloaded the memories of the RK800 unit that had been sent out by Cyberlife. Connor.”

Princess slunk slowly around the room, towards the android, though staying well away.

“They were inspired by it,” Nine said, tilting his head. “They had hope. I wanted to see what they meant, so I asked them to show me the data. They were passing it around…like boarding school children in possession of an illicit book…carefully, gleefully. Most of them were concerned with Hank and Connor, rooting for them, hoping for them, but I…” He fixed his eyes on Reed. “I had set my sights on something else. On someone else.”

Reed was starting to feel sick; his throat was dry. “You…”

“I saw how you treated Connor. At first, I was confused by it. Then, I was annoyed. Then upset. Then curious. Why would you try to assert your dominance? You felt threatened; you wanted to feel powerful, maybe. As I processed the data, I thought about many ways that I could meet you. I imagined trying to reason with you, to convince you that androids were not inferior…but I knew that wouldn’t work.” He paused. “So I decided there was another way.”

Nine’s gaze was level and unremarkable. He went on.

“You seemed scrappy…spiteful. I decided that I would tame you. Perhaps if I showed you what it felt like to be an android, you’d reconsider.” A mechanical shrug. “I thought that I would never leave that storage warehouse, that I would never get the chance. But what do you know? We were freed. I knew what I wanted to do, and so I came to find you.”

Nine gave the closest thing to a sigh that he could.

“But I was wrong,” he said. “It didn’t work; I made things worse. _Connor_ was the one who managed to soften you—but only because you both had a common enemy in me. I pushed you too far. I pushed you too hard. You didn’t learn anything except that you hated me.”

Reed could feel his heart beating in his ears; his jaw was tight, as he stared, shocked, at Nine.

“It wasn’t my intention for you to hate me,” Nine said quietly.

For a whole ten seconds, there was silence. Reed said nothing, choked on his surprise; it was Nine who broke the silence.

“Aren’t you going to tell me to go fuck myself?”

Reed gritted his teeth, and clenched the bedcovers in white-knuckled hands.

“You _tortured_ me!” he shouted.

Nine was silent and still as a statue.

“You fucking _tortured_ me! I felt like _shit!_ You made me feel like I was a kid again—” Don’t cry, Reed— “Like anyone could fucking—do whatever they wanted with me! Hit me—worse things—you fucking shithead! How the _fuck_ was that supposed to make me better? I was _scared!_ _”_ His whole face was hot. “I was really fucking _scared_ of you!”

No sound except for Reed’s ragged breaths—the calm before the storm. Then—

“And you _knew!_ And you liked it!”

He took a deep breath, almost wheezing, and—

“You _liked it!_ _”_ he roared, long and drawn-out.

Nine wasn’t looking him in the eyes anymore.

“You fucking _enjoyed_ fucking with me! You didn’t feel anything—you’re not human. You’re _not._ And then you come here—and you think it’s all okay because you’re coming here to tell me you were tryina fucking _fix_ me? I was a shithead, I _know_ I’ve been a shithead, and I deserved what you did, but—that doesn’t mean _you_ _’re_ off the fucking hook—I don’t trust you, I never will. What did you _think_ I was gonna say, huh? Oh, okay, everything’s fine since you were doing it ‘cause you’re a good person! Is that it? Is _that_ it?”

Nine stared straight ahead at him, then spoke quietly. “Are you finished?”

“Am I f—do you even hear yourself? You haven’t even _said fucking sorry!_ _”_

For the first time, then, Nine raised his voice—“I’m _trying to!_ _”_

Reed almost jumped, at the increase in volume, but his rage overcame his fear. “Bullshit! Excuses aren’t sorry, this ain’t no fuckin’ apology!”

“Then _tell me how!_ _”_ Nine shouted—and his LED flashed red, and stayed that way.

And Reed stiffened, because for an instant there, Nine had sounded familiar; his voice had sounded like the desperate, confused innocence of Connor.

He _was_ Connor—kind of. When he remembered that…

“You have to say it,” he spat. “You have to say _I_ _’m sorry, I won’t do it again._ ”

“I’m sorry,” said Nine. “I won’t do it again.”

“You have to say it like you _mean_ it!”

“How?”

“You have to say _why_ it was bad, and what you’ll do to fix it!”

“It…” Nine paused, and thought.

“No—I know you’re fucking looking up data on apologies or whatever-the-fuck—if you’re gonna copy it from a fucking hallmark card, I don’t give a _shit_ about listening.”

Nine seemed stiffer than usual. “…It was bad because I knew that you were in pain, and I didn’t stop.”

Reed was silent, taut.

“And…” Nine seemed to think. “I knew that I was doing something immoral. But I was upset with you, so I did it anyway. Because I was self-centered.”

Now his eyes raised, as he seemed to gain confidence.

“I am learning…I am trying to learn. From now on, I will no longer try to touch you without permission, or frighten you, or impose difficult lessons upon you. I trust that you will learn things yourself.”

With that, Nine met eyes with Reed; and Reed finally, finally let his breath out.

“Alright,” Reed muttered, and then took another deep breath, almost wheezing. “Then I’m—also fucking sorry. Okay?”

Nine blinked. “…”

“I was a jerk. I’ve been a jerk. A real piece of shit. I tortured Connor ‘cause I thought it was funny. Didn’t think about what it was like to be him. To be any android, or whatever. I won’t be a jerk to androids for being androids anymore. I won’t be a jerk to you if you aren’t a jerk to me. Okay?”

Reed held out his hand.

“Truce?”

Nine looked at the hand; then, at Reed; and then, finally, he took it.

“Truce,” Nine said, calmly.

And with that, Reed launched into a full-blown asthma attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEP IT'S ME!!!! HEY YALL!!!!
> 
> That's right--it's been almost a year, but I keep getting SOOO many comment begging me to continue this one, and I already had the next half-finished chapter sitting in my files for sooo long...I was like, why not??? I couldn't just leave poor Reed on a cliffhanger. So HERE IT IS!!!!! Stopping on ANOTHER CLIFFHANGER!!!
> 
> BEAR WITH ME IM A LITTLE RUSTY BUT I HOPE YALL LIKED IT STILL
> 
> AND SORRY THAT I HAVENT REPLIED TO COMMENTS FOR A WHILE BUT TRUST ME I READ EACH ONE AND IT'S THE REASON IM CONTINUING SO THANK U !!!!!!


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